Dreams poems
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The Land Where I Was Born
© John Shaw Neilson
HAVE you ever been down to my countree
Where the trees are green and tall?
Queen Mab: Part IX.
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
Earth floated then below;
The chariot paused a moment there;
The Spirit then descended;
The restless coursers pawed the ungenial soil,
Snuffed the gross air, and then, their errand done,
Unfurled their pinions to the winds of heaven.
The Old Days - And The New
© Alice Guerin Crist
Mid wattle scents and sounds of Spring,
The old man, dreaming in his chair,
Is back where skylarks soar and sing
In sunshine, oer the hills of Clare.
Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 1. The Musician's Tale; The Saga of King Olaf X. -- Raud The Strong
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
"All the old gods are dead,
All the wild warlocks fled;
Sir Eldred Of The Bower : A Legendary Tale: In Two Parts
© Hannah More
There was a young and valiant Knight,
Sir Eldred was his name;
And never did a worthier wight
The rank of knighthood claim.
Lamia. Part I
© John Keats
Upon a time, before the faery broods
Drove Nymph and Satyr from the prosperous woods,
Conscious Madness (extract from Saul)
© Charles Heavysege
What ails me? what impels me on, until
The big drops fall from off my brow? Whence comes
After The Rain
© Madison Julius Cawein
Behold the blossom-bosomed Day again,
With all the star-white Hours in her train,
The Lady of the Lambs
© Alice Meynell
SHE walks--the lady of my delight--
A shepherdess of sheep.
Her flocks are thoughts. She keeps them white;
She guards them from the steep.
She feeds them on the fragrant height,
And folds them in for sleep.
Book Seventh [Residence in London]
© William Wordsworth
Returned from that excursion, soon I bade
Farewell for ever to the sheltered seats
Of gowned students, quitted hall and bower,
And every comfort of that privileged ground,
Well pleased to pitch a vagrant tent among
The unfenced regions of society.
An Empty Nest
© James Whitcomb Riley
I find an old deserted nest,
Half-hidden in the underbrush:
A withered leaf, in phantom jest,
Has nestled in it like a thrush
With weary, palpitating breast.
A Street Of Ghosts
© Madison Julius Cawein
The drowsy day, with half-closed eyes,
Dreams in this quaint forgotten street,
That, like some old-world wreckage, lies,--
Left by the sea's receding beat,--
Far from the city's restless feet.
The Fairy West
© Henry Lawson
P.S.: I was in Yewklid the day I finished
Me edyercashun in those times dim
My younger brother cleared out to Queensland,
Twas mountains and rivers that finished him.
Memorials Of A Tour In Scotland, 1803 XII. Yarrow Unvisited
© William Wordsworth
FROM Stirling castle we had seen
The mazy Forth unravelled;
Had trod the banks of Clyde, and Tay,
And with the Tweed had travelled;
"This dainty instrument, this tabletoy"
© Richard Monckton Milnes
This dainty instrument, this table--toy,
Might seem best fitted for the use and joy
Of some high Ladie in old gallant times,
Or gay--learned weaver of Provencal rhymes:
God Rules Alway
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
Into the world's most high and holy places
Men carry selfishness, and graft and greed.
The Muses Threnodie: Second Muse
© Henry Adamson
Then thus, quod I, good Gall, I pray thee show,
For cleerly all antiquities yee know:
What mean these skonses, and these hollow trenches,
Throughout these fallow fields and yonder inches?
And these great heaps of stones like piramids,
Doubtless all these ye knew, that so much reads;
The Children Of The Foam
© William Wilfred Campbell
You may hear our hailing, hailing,
For the voices of our home;
Ride we, ride we, ever home,
Haunted children of the foam.
It Is You
© Paul Verlaine
It is you, it is you, poor better thoughts!
The needful hope, shame for the ancient blots,
Vashti
© James Weldon Johnson
Once when my eyes met yours it seemed that in
your cheek, despite your pride,
A flush arose and swiftly died; or was it something that I dreamed?
